The Page Turns
by fd
Summary: Rent fic 'It seemed so long ago and yet, it was only a year. He could still replay the day in his mind.'


Mark threw the scarf around his neck as he buttoned up his coat. It was chilly today. Just like it had been last year. He grabbed the bouquet and glanced at Roger, who was messing with his guitar in one of the corners of the room.

"I'm off. Are you coming?"

"What do you think?" Mark sighed.

"Don't wait up."

The door clicked shut and Mark walked the lonely road to the cemetery. It was a year to the day. Clutching the flowers in his hands, he boarded the subway and sank back in his seat to think.

Had it really been a year? So much had happened since then. All the friends they had made, plans that they had, laws that they'd broken, were all relatively new in comparison. It seemed so long ago and yet, it was only a year. He could still replay the day in his mind.

It was a Thursday. Roger was working at the Life Café and he was working part time at an independent video store down in SoHo. Roger's shift ended at eight that night but Mark had gotten off early. Something about restocking. Ironic now that he could remember the sweater he had worn that day but not the name of the store he had worked at for six months.

It had been chilly for June. More of fall weather than summer. The kind of weather that put Roger in his moods. He'd be a pain in the ass when he got back. April was a different story.

April had been rooming with them for a little under a month then and had been dating Roger for eight. It was the longest relationship he had ever pulled off. Maureen and himself had only dated for a month or two and Collins didn't seem to ever go out. The love lives of Avenue A were not exciting.

Mark loved April, though. She brought out a side of Roger that he never could. She was a breath of fresh air. If only he could get those two to break their 'habit'.

It had been one of the reasons Collins had moved out three months ago. It was hard to deal with people when they were that doped up. Stumbling in at all hours of the night, laughing at some stupid thing, throwing away their lives. Mark was determined to do something about it—eventually.

Unlocking the loft, something didn't feel right. There was a sense of foreboding which did not frequent the home.

"Hello? Roger, did you skip work again?"

Theoretically, he should be the only one there. Roger was at the café, April was at the club, and Collins--didn't live there anymore. It wasn't odd that the house was quiet but it wasn't the quiet that rested well with you. It was the kind of quiet an axe murderer snuck up on you in.

"Anyone?"

Roger's guitar sat, unused, in the corner. It didn't say much, though. He hadn't played in months. The only thing changed from that morning was that the bathroom door was closed.

Mark sat his jacket and car keys on the table, noticing a sheet of paper. Curiosity got the better of him and he unfolded it.

...AIDS? Roger and April had AIDS?!? No, they couldn't. There was no way. Only gay people got AIDS. That's what the news said. Only gay people...

And junkies. God, they could! But surely this was a mistake. Roger could not have AIDS. They'd known each other for too long. There must be some rule, something that would prove that Roger...

'Get a hold of yourself, Mark.' It was too much to take in at one time. He'd wait until they got home. If they weren't high, he'd talk to them about it. Find out it wasn't true. But first, he'd wash up.

The scream that erupted from Mark Cohen's lips must have awoken any slumber in the tri-state area. He couldn't take it. He ran. He ran and ran until his legs gave out and he collapsed. He couldn't think. It was an overloaded that he couldn't handle.

He must have looked pathetic because a man walking by dropped change. Mark got up to return it, but saw a payphone on the way.

"Hello. This is Mark Cohen. May I speak to Roger Davis? ...... I know he's on shift but this is an emergency! ...NO! IT CAN'T WAIT! ...Well, fuck you, too!"

He slammed the phone back on the receiver and cursed under his breath. Only one other number to call.

"Hello. You've reached Maureen Johnson. I'm probably off performing right now but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you. Pookie....love!"

Mark sighed and hung up. Maureen was out again. Probably with some other guy. He wasn't stupid; he knew she cheated on him. But of all the days to pick!

It was too much. The emotion of it all was catching up with him; overloading him. Maybe if he backed away, detached himself from it a little, he could see more clearly. Yes, that was it. The pain would lessen if he'd just see it through independent eyes.

Mark was jostled back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of the gates to the cemetery. The stone was cracked and crumbling. They couldn't afford much.

He walked past row after row of gravestones until he came to April's. Laying the flowers down brought some color to the dark scene.

April's death had helped in some ways. Roger got clean. Maureen moved in – and out. No one spoke of the dead girl much, though. The topic was off limits. Mark knew not to push Roger's buttons. But the death of a young girl is always tragic.

'Goodbye, April. Thanks.' This page had been turned. Her chapter was over. Mark turned and headed for home.


End file.
